


Soup

by Saylee



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Humiliation, M/M, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/Saylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rimmer tries to demonstrate the finer points of soup dispenser repair to the newest technician. Things don't go his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horselizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/gifts).



> Birthday fic for horselizard - I hope this goes right up your flagpole.

 It was not Rimmer's finest hour.  

 

It hadn't been intended to be, of course, but it was supposed to be something. Some responsibility, finally. Show the new boy the ropes. After only thirteen years with the company, the opportunity to impart his knowledge and experience. 

It would have helped of course, if the recipient had been a little more disciplined and eager to learn. Really, it would have helped if the new technician had been anyone but David Lister. Also his new bunkmate, the obnoxious scouser had already ignored his no-smoking signs, poked through his wardrobe, and spilled tea all over his pristine bunk, all while grinning an infuriating cheerful grin. He was, Rimmer had decided, exactly the kind of uncouth, disrespectful slob he despised. 

Now, he leaned against Soup Dispenser 539 on C-Deck, cigarette dangling from his lips, half finished pie in one hand, clearly failing to show any interest as Rimmer attempted to impress on him the very important differences between size 14 pipe cleaners, specifically a 14-B and a 14-F, and their different uses in the task of clearing blocked chicken soup nozzles. 

"Are you paying attention?" He demanded. "This is crucial. Do you see the distribution of the bristles on this -" he shoved the first pipe cleaner under the new technician's nose, "- and this?" He showed him the second. "Do not mix these up. If you use a 14-F on these nozzles, as opposed to a 23G nozzle, well, I can assure you, you will not like it, millado." 

Lister looked bored. Rimmer looked him up and down, marvelling at the stains that already decorated the front of his  brand-new uniform shirt. "Well, maybe it wouldn't make a difference to you."  

Lister snorted. "Has anyone ever told you you're a smeghead, Rimmer?" 

His back stiffened. "Do you have any idea what the consequences are for calling a superior technician a smeghead?" 

"Not really." Lister took a drag off his cigarette. Rimmer absolutely did not stare at his mouth. 

"Well." He cleared his throat. "You are new. I'll let you off the hook this time, but let me assure you, squire, next time I'll have no choice but to put you on report." 

"Uh huh." 

This was not going well. Upbeat, he had to try for upbeat. "How about a demonstration?" He held up one of the pipe cleaners. "Let me show you how to clean this nozzle."

"Isn't that the wrong pipe cleaner?" Lister asked. 

Rimmer glowered. "Really, millado, I have been doing this job for much longer than you. I think I can tell the difference between a 14-B and a 14-F." Lister shrugged. "Now, observe my technique." He hunkered down in front of the machine, leaning forward to peer closely at the nozzle. "You want to approach the nozzle on a precise 38 degree angle, and insert your pipe cleaner like so. Then you wiggle it around a bit, and -" He was interrupted as salty yellowish liquid erupted suddenly from the machine, hitting him squarely in the face. He yelped, and spluttered as he got a mouthful of foul, lukewarm soup. He scrambled backwards, pulling away the pipe cleaner as he did and unleashing a fresh torrent of soup, soaking the front of his uniform. 

Lister, the absolute goit, was laughing uproariously, and doing absolutely nothing to help. Rimmer stood there helplessly as a last spurt of soup spilled onto the floor, in his wet uniform, soup dripping from his nose and eyelashes. There was dessicated chicken in his hair, he could tell. And worst of all, worst of all by far, he was horrifically aware of the stiffy that was trying to split his pants. Thank god his tight  trousers were doing their best to disguise his predicament. His face flamed. 

The new technician was still laughing. Even his yelp, when his cigarette, forgotten in his hilarity burnt down to his fingertips, could do nothing to assuage Rimmer's feelings. He stood there in abject humiliation, soaking with dirty soup, and hard as a rock. He nearly toppled over as Lister clapped him on one wet shoulder. 

"Great demonstration." He grinned. Far too friendly, he offered, "Let's go back to the bunkroom, and you can get changed." 

Not kindness, not right now. He felt sickened, even as his dick jumped. A drop of soup slid down his face to drip from his chin. He whimpered.                                                                                                      


End file.
